"I know," the dowager responded when he had finished speaking.

"You know?" His look was incredulous. "You knew the deception perpetrated upon me and you said nothing? Why, Grandmama? Why?"

"I learned the truth only a few months ago," his grandmother said quietly. "From the day I met her, Aurora seemed familiar to me, and yet I could not understand why. Then, several weeks back, I was in the family portrait gallery when I came across the portraits of the first duke's two younger sisters. Catherine Hawkesworth was married to the Kimberly, who was given the grant of St. Timothy by King Charles II, and her sister, Anne, was wed to the Meredith who shared the island with the Kimberlys. Aurora is Catherine's image, and very much Anne's as well. I realized then why Aurora had seemed so familiar, and I confirmed it with her servant, Martha."

"But why?" he rasped, his head reeling.

"She didn't want to marry a stranger, and she didn't care if she was a d.u.c.h.ess or not. She wants to wed for love," the dowager said softly. "Calandra, however, was not so particular, I fear."

"Aurora didn't want to be a d.u.c.h.ess?" he said wonderingly. Then he shook his head. "There will be time to deal with that matter, but first we must see that poor Calandra and her daughter are buried decently in the family plot. She was my wife for all the deception. We can do no less, Grandmama."

"Leave it rest, Valerian," Mary Rose Hawkesworth said. "If Calandra had been safely delivered of her child, it would have been different."

"But she was not, Grandmama, and now, poor girl, she is dead," the duke replied quietly.

"It was a mismatch, and granted it was the wrong match, but nothing of the heiress's dowry was withheld from you, Valerian," his grandmother said. "Let it be, and bury your wife with dignity."

"We will bury Calandra honorably," he answered her calmly, "but then I will deal with that deceiving little b.i.t.c.h who should have been my wife. So, Miss Aurora Kimberly did not wish to be a d.u.c.h.ess. She will shortly learn that the choice is not hers to make."

"Valerian," his grandmother said sternly, "Aurora is affianced to St. John. Their marriage is scheduled for May."

He laughed, and it was a hard sound. "I'm afraid if my cousin wishes to marry in May, he will have to find another bride. Aurora is mine!"

Chapter 11.

Charlotte Calandra Hawkesworth, Fourth d.u.c.h.ess of Farminster, was laid to rest in the family plot on a hillside overlooking the estate lake. The funeral was private, the young d.u.c.h.ess mourned by her husband, her sister, Lady Hawkesworth, and three servants. Sir Ronald said the Anglican service of Christian burial over the body, and at the duke's request agreed to explain to everyone that the family's grief was such that they could not bear the weight of a larger gathering.

"Understandable, understandable," murmured the cleric. "A terrible loss, the d.u.c.h.ess and her child both." Then he left them to their mourning, grateful that Betsy and her husband had not been called back and their honeymoon spoiled. It had been generous of both the duke and his sister-in-law in their great trial and time of grief to think of the newlyweds.

"I must write to Mama," Aurora said when they had returned to the house after the burial.

"I will write her too," the dowager said.

"And I," the duke told them.

"I cannot remain at Hawkes Hill for much longer," Aurora said. "It is not proper with my sister gone."

"You will remain," Valerian Hawkesworth said firmly.

"I cannot!" she cried desperately.

"You can, and you will, and I think we both know why, Aurora," he said coldly. "Besides, you have my grandmother to chaperon you. No one will think ill of you for staying."

"St. John will not be happy," she told him.

"My cousin's state of mind should be of no concern to you," Valerian Hawkesworth answered her, "but I shall speak to him myself very shortly."

Aurora fled up the staircase to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her as if the devil himself were after her. "He knows!" she told Martha, pale and wide-eyed. "He knows!"

"Knows what, miss?" Martha was puzzled.

"That I am the one. The one he should have married!" Aurora replied frantically. "Oh, Martha! He looked like he wanted to kill me!"

"Oh, miss, how could he know?" Martha said. "Unless . . . oh, Lord help us! The doctor must have said something. He and your papa were good friends, being the only two of their kind on the island. The doctor must have known about your betrothal, and when he saw Miss Cally got curious as to why she was the d.u.c.h.ess and not you."

"He is going to speak to St. John!" she said frantically.

"Oh, the duke wouldn't make you marry him when he knows you love Mr. St. John, miss. Besides, it would cause a terrible scandal, and Miss Cally only just dead with her poor child. You're overwrought, miss. Now, you come and have a nice lie-down. I'll go get you some tea."

"No!" Aurora clutched at her servant's arm. "We have to leave Hawkes Hill, Martha. We must!"

"And where will we go?" Martha said in practical tones. "You can't go to Primrose Court even with Mr. St. John's mother in residence. It would cause a terrible calumny. Besides, your wedding is going to have to be postponed for a year. We're in mourning now, y' know."

"I could shelter with the Bowens," Aurora said desperately.

"In that rabbit warren of a house, and with all those daughters, not to mention that little devil, Master Willie? There's no room for you there, miss. Come, now, and lie down for me, dearie."

"Then we must go home to St. Timothy!" Aurora decided. "I have my mother's house! He cannot take that from me, and in a year's time St. John can come for me, and we will be married. We do not have time to get to London to catch the Royal George, but there will be another sailing of another ship in a few weeks' time. That's it! That's what we shall do, Martha! We shall go home!"

"Yes, miss, now, lie down and try to rest while I fetch you a little tea. You're all upset with Miss Cally's death." She settled the girl, and then, leaving the room, the curtains drawn, hurried to speak with the dowager.

"Poor child," the dowager sympathized. "My grandson would glower at her darkly, and frighten her."

"Does he know, ma'am?" Martha ventured. "Excuse my boldness, but I love Miss Aurora. I've raised her since she was a baby."

"The duke knows he was deceived," the dowager answered the servant. "What he will do, I do not know, but I promise you I will do my very best to protect Aurora from his anger and caprice."

"It was the doctor, weren't it?" Martha said. "When I first saw him I was so glad to see him, I didn't realize he might be the key to our undoing. How am I to keep my mistress calm, ma'am? How am I to keep her from running away back to St. Timothy?"

The dowager arose, and opening a small drawer in her desk, drew out a little ivory box. Opening it, she drew out a small, gilded round pellet. "Crush it and put it in her tea, Martha. It will make her sleep the night through, and after a good night's rest Aurora will certainly think more clearly and forget this nonsense of running away. Then I will speak to her myself tomorrow, and we will decide upon a course of action that will calm her fears."

"Oh, thank you, your grace," Martha said gratefully, curtsying. She departed the dowager's rooms and went to the kitchens, where she fixed a small tray with bread and b.u.t.ter, some dark, rich fruitcake, and a small pot of tea. Then, carrying it, she returned to Aurora, finding her up and pacing the bedroom. Martha placed her tray on the piecrust table and said briskly, "Now, you sit down and have your tea, miss. Then I'm going to tuck you up in bed, and after a good night's rest we'll plan our journey, eh?" She smiled at the girl, drawing her to the table.

Aurora sat down, taking the saucer of tea from Martha, sipping it nervously, nibbling on the bread and b.u.t.ter, eating a small slice of the fruitcake. Gently Martha encouraged the girl to finish the tea, and poured her more, until the little pot was emptied. Aurora's eyelids grew heavy, and she did not protest when Martha helped her to her bed and tucked her in beneath the down coverlet. She was asleep even as Martha blew out the bedside taper. Taking the tea tray, the servant returned to the kitchens and then hurried back to her mistress. Entering the bedroom, she gave a small cry at the figure looming over Aurora's bed.

"It is only me," the duke said, quickly calming her fears. He turned to face her, and Martha thought how handsome he was.

"You shouldn't be here, your grace," she gently scolded him.

"She is so lovely," he responded. "Why is she sleeping so heavily, Martha? Is she all right?"

"Your grandmama gave me a little pill to put in her tea, your grace. Miss Aurora is heartbroken over her sister's death and wants to go home to St. Timothy. She would have tried to leave tonight if we had not stopped her. She ain't slept too good since Miss Cally died, and she ain't thinking clearly."

"Her home is here at Hawkes Hills," the duke replied.

"You ain't going to let her marry Mr. St. John, are you, your grace?" Martha asked him candidly. It was bold of her, but she had to know if she herself was going to decide what to do.

Valerian Hawkesworth shook his head. "Aurora was betrothed to me, Martha. That she and her family deceived me makes no difference. Under the law, Aurora is my betrothed wife. If poor Calandra had lived, if she had given me a son, it would have been a different matter altogether even if I had eventually learned of the subterfuge. Calandra, however, is dead, and our child with her. And Dr. Carstairs has exposed the trickery that was practiced upon me."

"But, your grace," Martha said softly, "you were married to Charlotte Kimberly, and you did receive her dowry according to the terms of the agreement your father and Robert Kimberly arranged all those years ago. Nothing was withheld from you."

Valerian Hawkesworth chuckled. "Indeed, Martha, but it was the wrong Charlotte Kimberly. The agreement between my father and Aurora's was made even before her birth, before he wed his third wife, Oralia Spencer, and adopted her two children. The Kimberlys have defrauded me by palming the wrong bride off on me. Should my cousin, St. John, learn of it, and be married to Aurora, he would attempt to claim the island for himself. Not because he really wanted it, but out of plain malice and mischief. I cannot allow him to do that. Besides, your mistress is, by law, mine. I intend to have what is mine." Then, in a great gesture of good manners, he nodded to her, and, turning, departed.

Martha was astounded by his politeness. After all, she was only a servant; granted, an upper-cla.s.s servant, but a servant nonetheless. The duke had taken the time to speak with her at length, and answer her questions although he was certainly not bound to do so. She liked him. She had always liked him, and had never understood Aurora's antipathy toward Valerian Hawkesworth. Now, however, there would be war between the two. Martha decided then and there not to reveal a word of what had pa.s.sed between herself and the duke tonight. It would only drive Miss Aurora to reckless actions, and even without knowing what Martha knew, her young mistress was going to behave in a hasty and foolhardy manner. Of that Martha could be certain.

The duke was the right husband for Aurora, and Martha had always believed it. Mr. St. John had been a good alternate, of course, but Martha suspected that he was as reckless and adventurous as Aurora herself. They might have been a good match, but on the other hand, it could have proved a disastrous marriage with St. John encouraging Aurora to hector the duke even as he did. Besides, Miss Aurora deserved to be a d.u.c.h.ess even if she thought she didn't want to be. And it was what Mr. Kimberly, G.o.d rest his good soul, had wanted for his daughter. At that moment Martha decided that she would aid the dowager and her grandson to bring about the marriage between Aurora and the duke. It could be no betrayal of her mistress to do what Martha knew in her heart was the right thing. She had known it all along, as had George Spencer-Kimberly and his mother.

When she awoke in the morning, Aurora seemed calmer, Martha thought. She ate her breakfast, wrote to her mother, and complained of the headache, but she said nothing about leaving to return to St. Timothy. Perhaps, the servant thought hopefully to herself, she has given up the idea, and so she reported to the dowager. But Aurora kept to her bedchamber, claiming fatigue, and had both her later meals brought to her upon a tray as well. Her appet.i.te, however, was quite good. She took to her bed early, reading until she fell asleep.

"Poor lamb," Martha said to herself as she snuffed the candles and banked the fires in the fireplace before seeking her own little room.

Aurora awoke as the clock struck three. lying quietly in her bed, she smiled to herself. Since childhood she had always slept seven hours exactly unless she was ill. She had deliberately gone to bed early so she might awaken in the middle of the night and effect her escape from Hawkes Hill. Martha, she sadly realized, could no longer be trusted. She was almost certain her maid had drugged her tea the evening before. Obviously Martha did not approve of her plans, and that was unfortunate. She would have to leave her servant behind, but she knew the dowager would treat Martha well and keep her in her employ, so she felt no guilt over her decision.

She slipped from her bed, shivering at the chill of the November night. She was going to London. Once there, she would find respectable lodgings and book pa.s.sage on the next boat to the western Indies. She had more than enough money, most of what she had come to England with, for the duke had paid for all of her expenses since her arrival. There was a single public coach that came past the main road outside the estate early in the morning once a week. That morning was the day. The coach would take her to the town of Hereford, and from there she would be able to get the London coach. She was taking none of her possessions so that no one would suspect she had gone far until possibly the morrow, at which point it would be too late to find her. She would dress plainly so as not to attract attention, and carry only a small reticule with her funds, and a brush to keep her hair neat.

The dress she chose was a simple dark blue silk, respectable but not showy. She wore several petticoats beneath it, including a flannel one, and knit woolen stockings. She would buy whatever else she needed in London before sailing. Pinning her hair into a neat chignon, she picked up her fur-lined cloak and slipped from the bedroom. She walked carefully, tiptoeing down the staircase and across the foyer to the front door. Cautiously she drew back the bolts on the front door.

"And where, my dear betrothed, do you think you are going?" the duke's voice shattered the silence of the night.

Aurora whirled to see him in the dimly lit doorway of his library. "I am going home," she said. "You cannot stop me, Valerian!" Betrothed! He had called her his betrothed. So he really did know.

"I think not," he said coldly. Then he closed the distance between them, and s.n.a.t.c.hing her cloak from her grip, flung it across the foyer. An arm reached out, wrapping itself tightly about her waist, forcing her body against his in a proximity that set her senses reeling. "Hawkes Hill is your home, Aurora. It was settled even before your birth, when our fathers pledged us in marriage. A marriage you sought to avoid with deception, putting your sister in your place."

"You got what you wanted!" she cried. "You got St. Timothy and a wife. What more do you want, Valerian? What more?"

"I want you, Aurora!" he said fiercely, and his hand caressed her face, his dark blue eyes scorching her with their intensity.

"Was not my sister enough for you?" she demanded angrily. "You mistreated her, Valerian! She told me so!"

"Calandra was a marble Venus, my dear Aurora," he said in hard tones. "She hated my touch, and I had to force myself upon my own wife in order to get her with child. She lay like a dead woman, her head turned from me, her body as cold as stone each time I took her."

"But you still managed to engage your l.u.s.t, Valerian, didn't you? Did you enjoy your rape of my sister? How could you do it?" Aurora demanded, her eyes filled with tears as she remembered Cally.

"I thought of you," he said with devastating effect, almost pleased to see the shock in her aquamarine-blue eyes. "I aroused my baser instincts, as Calandra would have called them, by remembering the sight of your coming naked from the sea one day on St. Timothy."

"Oh, my G.o.d!"

"I am not proud of it, Aurora," he told her. "Do not ever think I was proud of what I had to do, but your sister hated the physical act of love, and I had to have an heir. Calandra was my wife, and that was her duty. I would have given her anything she wanted if she had only given me an heir. I quickly accepted the fact that she did not love me because I realized she would never love any man, nor would she cuckold me. She loved her position, and she loved my wealth and all it afforded her. It was all she sought, but she was too selfish to give me what I sought in return for what I gave her. I regret her death."

"Yet you are glad she is no longer here to trouble you!" Aurora accused him. "Do not deny it, Valerian!"

"I wished your sister no harm, Aurora, but she is dead, and no, I will not deny my relief at being freed from her. You would despise me if I did, for you would then know me as a liar, and I am not that."

"I despise you anyhow," Aurora declared angrily. "You cannot stop me, Valerian. I am going home to be with my family, and to wait out my year of mourning for Cally. But when that year is over, I shall marry St. John, as we have planned. I hate you! I will always hate you for what you did to my poor little sister!"

It was as if the small thread of sanity and reason that had been holding him together for these past months was suddenly snapped. "You deceitful little b.i.t.c.h," he snarled at her. "You are going nowhere, and as for my cousin, St. John will not have you, my dear, after I have finished with you!" Then he began ripping her bodice and her skirts.

With a shriek Aurora pulled away from him, turning and running for the stairs. Halfway up he caught her, his hands furiously shredding the fabric of her garments until she was virtually naked despite her valiant efforts to fend him off and escape once more. Finally Aurora attempted to scream, but he clapped his hand over her mouth even as he picked her up in his arms and continued on up the stairs and down the hallway to his bedroom. Kicking the door open and then shut behind him, he walked across the room, flinging her onto the bed as her hair came loose from its neat chignon, spilling about her shoulders.

She had to get up, she realized. She had to push past him and run for her very life. Yet she lay upon her back, watching with fascination as he yanked his own clothing off. Boots were kicked across the room, followed by breeches, drawers, stockings, and shirt. He stood over her, and she could not for the life of her stop staring. He was beautifully proportioned, but he looked hard as iron. I have to get up, Aurora thought desperately, yet her own limbs felt weakened and incapable of supporting her. She made a single futile attempt.

He pushed her back. Then, putting one knee upon the bed, he bent, cupping her face between his two big hands, and kissed her. It was a deep, slow kiss, his mouth warm and demanding upon hers, and betrayed by her own body, Aurora's lips softened beneath his. She sighed deeply, her mouth opening against the pressure of his. Their breaths mingled, and she could taste the whiskey on his. For a single moment in time, sanity returned, and she attempted to struggle away from him, but then his tongue slipped between her lips to touch hers. Emotions she had never really quite understood exploded within her. Their tongues entwined and caressed until Aurora was completely breathless and near to fainting.

He seemed to sense her state, and lifted his mouth from hers so she could catch her breath. Then slowly he began to kiss her face, his lips grazing softly and warmly over the skin. Delicately he touched the corners of her mouth, her cheeks, her chin, her eyelids, her forehead. Not just once, but several times over. Then, pushing her head back with the heel of his palm, he began to place warm kisses upon her straining throat, lingering momentarily in the beating hollow at the base of it. She almost screamed when his hot tongue began licking at the column of her neck, sweeping up the length of it and then back down again. Her silken flesh was utterly intoxicating.

"Oh, G.o.d," Aurora murmured. How could he do this to her? How could his pa.s.sion have such an incredible effect upon her? She loved St. John, didn't she? Did she even know what love was? She was beginning to realize that she didn't. How could she feel this way about Valerian Hawkesworth when he was forcing her. But he isn't, the voice in her head said. You want him. You have always wanted him. Has it not been his face you saw in your dreams? "No!" she cried aloud.

"Yes!" his voice grated back at her. "Yes!"

Lying next to her now, he drew her into his arms. Gently he began to fondle her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Aurora quivered with antic.i.p.ation, desperate for the feel of his mouth upon her nipples, but instead he caressed the small rounds of warm flesh with delicate fingertips, brushing over the skin lightly, teasing at the little nubs until they darkened and grew taught with their rising excitement. Finally, when her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were swollen so hard that Aurora thought they would burst, he touched the very tips of her with his facile tongue, brushing against them quickly at first, and then each in its turn slowly. And at last he took a nipple in his mouth, sucking hard upon her until she gasped, feeling the wetness against her thighs.

Shyly, she touched the dark head upon her chest, not daring to stroke him, not even certain she should if she could get up the nerve. What was a woman supposed to do when a man made love to her? She remembered the bitterness in his voice as he spoke of her sister lying like a dead woman when he had exercised his husbandly rights. Still, she should not encourage him, for he had no right to make love to her. No right at all! "Ohhhhhh!" His tongue and his kisses were moving down her torso, and her belly was both aching and roiling with nervousness.

"You are so soft," he murmured, looking up at her a moment, the anger now gone from his eyes.

"Let me go, Valerian," she pleaded. "Why must you shame me?"

"You do not feel shamed, you little liar," he said, his voice tinged with amus.e.m.e.nt. "You know d.a.m.ned well I intend marrying you. Besides, you are as warm and as willing as your sister was cold and unwilling. I will never let you go, Aurora!"

"Why?"

"Because you are mine," he answered, and then his lips began to kiss her upon her belly, pushing his tongue into her navel to tease at her until, unable to help herself, she began to writhe beneath his attentions.

I will not be his, Aurora thought mutinously. I will not! Yet if she would not, then why did she lie in his embrace, enjoying his pa.s.sionate attentions? Cally had once said she must be wanton. Was she a wanton? Yet Cally had also said Valerian Hawkesworth had abused her with his attentions, and Aurora did not feel abused at all by him. Still, she felt it her duty to make a further protest of his actions. "You will ruin me for St. John," she said low.

"You mean St. John has not ruined you for me?" he mocked her.

Aurora attempted to smack him, but he caught her hand, and kissed the palm. "I am a virgin," she snapped furiously.

"Then I shall certainly ruin you for St. John," he agreed.

"But why?" she demanded.

"Because you are mine," he repeated, piercing her with a hungry gaze. "You belong to me, Aurora. You feel the attraction between us every bit as much as I feel it, but you will not admit to it. St. John will not have you or St. Timothy," he said fiercely.

"But you already have St. Timothy," she said desperately.

"No, I do not. Not until its heiress is my wife, and you are its heiress. If my cousin learned of it, and you were his wife, he would take the island for himself."

"I will admit to deceiving you, and sign my property over to you," she said, half angry. This wasn't about her, or had it been about Cally. It was about land.

"No," he said.